ALIENATION AND BLACK MAGIC

 

Insane asylums are conscious and premeditated receptacles of black
magic,

and it is not only that doctors encourage magic with their inopportune
and hybrid therapies,
it is how they use it.

If there had been no doctors
there would never have been patients,
no skeletons of the diseased
dead to butcher and flay,
for it is through doctors and not through patients that society began.

Those who live, live off the dead.
And it is likewise necessary that death live;
and there is nothing like an insane asylum for gently incubating death,
and for keeping the dead in incubators.

It began 4000 years before Jesus christ this therapy of slow death,
and modern medicine, an accomplice in this of the most sinister and
crapulous magic, subjects its dead to electroshock or to insulin ther-
apy so as daily to throughly empty its stud farms of men of their
egos,
and to expose them thus empty,
thus fantastically
available and empty,
to the obscene anatomical and atomic solicitations
to the state called Bardo, delivery of the full kit for living to the
demands of the non-ego.

Bardo is the death throes in which the ego falls in a puddle,
and there is in electroshock a puddle state
through which everyone traumatized passes,
and which causes him, no longer at this moment to know , but to dread-
fully and desperately misjudge what he was, when he was himself,
his own elf, his fief, wife, life, tripe, damnit and THAT.

I went through it and I won’t forget it.

The magic of electroshock drains a death rattle, it plunges the shocked
into that rattle with which we leave life.

But, the electroshock of Bardo were never an experiment, and to death
rattle in the electroshock of Bardo, as in the Bardo of electroshock,
is to mangle an experiment sucked by the larvae of the non-ego, and
that man will not recapture.
In the midst of this palpitation and this respiration of all the others who
besiege the one who, as the Mexicans say, scraping to broach the
bark with his grater, flows lawlessly from all sides.

Bribed medicine lies each time that it presents a patient cured by the
electrical introspections of its method,
as for me, I’ve seen only those who have been terrorized by the method,
incapable of recovering their egos.

Who has gone through the electroshock of Bardom and the Bardo of
electroshock, never climbs up again from its tenebrae, and life has
slipped a notch.
I’ve known there these moleculations breath upon breath of the death
rattle of authentically agonizing people.

What the Tarahumaras of Mexico call the spittle of the grater, the cin-
der of toothless coal.

Loss of a slap of the first euphoria that you had one day feeling yourself
alive, swallowing and chewing.

It is thus that electroshock like Bardo creates larvae, it turns all the
patient’s pulverized states, all the facts of his past into larvae which
are unusable in the present yet which never cease beseiging the pre-
sent.

Now, I repeat, Bardo is death, and death is only a state of black magic
which did not exist not so long ago.

To thus create death artificially as present-day medicine attempts to do
is to encourage a reflux of the nothingness which has never been to
anyone’s benefit,
but off which certain predestined human profiteers have been eating
their fill for a long time.

Actually, since a certain pint in time.

Which one?

That pint when it was necessary to choose between renouncing being
a man and becoming an obvious madman.

But what guarantee to do the obvious madmen of this world have of being
nursed by the authentically living?

farfadi
ta azor
tau ela
auela
a
tara
ila

                                           THE END

A blank page to separate the text of the book, which is finished from all
the swarming of Bardo which appeared in the limbo of elec-
troshock.
And in this limbo a special typography, which is there to abject god, to
background the verbal words to which one wanted to attribute a
special value.

ANTONIN ARTAUD
12 January 1948

you’re leaving, kid,
says the scummy familiarity of Bardo,
and you’re still there,

you’r no longer there
but nothing leaves you,
y o u ‘ v e   k e p t   e v e r y t h i n g
e x c e p t   y o u r s e l f

and what’s it to you since
t h e   w o r l d
is there.

The 
w o r l d ,
b u t   i t ‘ s    n o   l o n g e r   m e .
A n d   w h a t ‘ s   i t   t o   y o u ,   k i d ,
s a y s   B a r d o ,
i t ‘ s   m e

P.S. — I want to complain about having met in electroshock dead peo-
ple whom I wouldn’t have chosen to see.

The same ones,
whom this imbecile book called
Bardo Todol
has been draining and proposing for a little more than four thousand
years.

Why?

I simply ask:
Why?. . .

 

FROM ARTAUD THE MÔMO
WATCHFIENDS & RACK SCREAMS
WORKS FROM THE FINAL PERIOD BY
ANTONIN ARTAUD
EDITED AND TRANSLATED BY
CLAYTON ESHLEMAN WITH BERNARD BADOR

 

NANCY SPERO | CODEX ARTAUD

 

 

 

Peter Valente | from The Artaud Variations

THEY have beaten, eviscerated, pierced, fucked, knifed, burned, cut up and re-
stitched, blown and sucked the body of Artaud

to keep the ABSOLUTE body from being born.

It is a torture without end:

Injections of morphine given by satanic doctors to weaken Artaud through suggestion and addiction which OPENS HIM UP to insect lust and obscenities of spiritmagic performed on him by filthy priests of the abyss whose number is 6.
Thus Artaud is bewitched in the middle brain.

WHO LET THE FUCKERS IN?
                                                   we are here for you Artaud

GET THE FUCK OUT
                                         we are Artaud you are someone else

GET THE FUCK OUT OF ME
                                               he can hear us what is he thinking we can’t tell what he is
                                doing don’t try to hide from us you can’t

OUT!

 

 

I, Artaud, have been raped, beaten, spit upon, thrown

into the fire, electrocuted, silenced, pissed on, forced
to eat shit, chained, kept in solitary, flayed, tossed over
the coals, unable to sleep, unable to eat, day and night
to prevent me from being God, to prevent the ABSO-
LUTE body from being born. Everyone seeks to reju-
venate themselves by inhaling and sucking on the vital
substance of Artaud, draining his will. I, Artaud, have
been tortured in the Paris streets and everywhere mis-
understood, accused by a God who hates his creation.
I was knifed in Marseille, bludgeoned to death with an
iron bar in Dublin to keep me from pronouncing my
independence, that I was in possession of the cane I
received from christ. THEY have plotted against me,
assassinated me to  demoralize my 7 daughters who are
born of my body, struck me down as I cursed the in-
justice of the secret police who are God’s prostitutes on
earth. This was all to prevent Artaud from realizing the
true science of Man, his strength, his will, his immov-
able force, and that God himself was born of Artaud.
This is because the true name of God is ARTAUD. And
these beings without name, suspended between noth-
ingness and nothingness, inhabit a body to replicate
themselves.

The body of Artaud is not an idea but a fact. The fact
of the body is that it is nothing, and by this noth-
ing shows itself in its blank face and impenetrable
flesh. The Tibetans, Mongols, Afghans have heard in
listening to God the sound of the unconscious heart
wrested from the abyss in the syllables of the word
AR-TAU. The initiated spread the word among the
people, claiming this word designates a FORCE, not
of the individual, but of REALITY itself. This was the
FORCE that God in his anger enchained to prevent
it from coming into Being. Thus I, Artaud, was assas-
sinated and thrown into the gutter of an empty Paris
street at night.

And yet the secret initiates know that I, Artaud, born
in Marseille on the 4th of September, am that same
AR-TAU,

A FURIOUS CHRIST

DESCENDED FROM THE CROSS

TO WAGE WAR AGAINST GOD

IN OBLIVION

PETER VALENTE | THE ARTAUD VARIATIONS
SPUYTEN DUYVIL © 2014

 

Nancy Spero | Codex Artaud